Beyond This Moment
by LeStrangexx
Summary: "I know it's gonna get rough sometimes. It ain't exactly the best time ta' be a kid right now, but that doesn't mean ya' gotta act all big and tough all the time, y'know?" Moments in time with Baby Dixon. Drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone.**

**Yes, yes, I know I have other stories I need to get around to finishing, but the plot bunnies just keep sneaking up on me and making a home in my brain. I apologize for this.**

**I just had this idea of little moments of a baby Dixon, just drabbles and such. I thought it might be cute to have little moments between Daryl, Carol, Merle, or any other character really and the Dixon child. There were ideas in my head that wouldn't leave. Small Mister Dixon was pestering to be let out onto the internet. **

**This first moment was greatly inspired by the album artwork for ****_So Flows the Current_**** by Patrick O'Hearn, where, oddly enough, one of the tracks on said album also inspired the title for this collection of drabbles.**

**I hope you enjoy! :) **

**-Gabby**

_1. Innocence._

The hot, summer sun was beating down onto the leaves that were hanging over the cool, rushing creek. A bird swooped down low, just skimming the shallow water with the tips of its claws. More of the same creatures fluttered above and through the trees as their coos and caws echoed about the forest. When a breeze passed, the bright green foliage rustled, a welcomed, slight chill accompanying the sound. It was moments like this that could almost fool a person into thinking the world was back to normal.

A little boy, no more than eight years-old, stood at the edge of the water with his boots in his hand, bare toes poking around at the pebbles in the soft dirt. His shaggy, sandy blonde hair hung in his bright blue eyes and curled around his hairline from the bullets he had been sweating all day. In the waistband of his pants, there was a gun, his daddy not having his child go around unprotected. Next to him sat a man with his own larger pair of boots in his hand and a crossbow across his back. The man's feet were completely submerged in the water as he picked up small stones and skipped them across the water to the other side of the creek. "Daddy, why the hell's Judy gotta act like she's got a big ol' stick up her ass?"

"You best watch your mouth, boy," the man replied, not removing his eyes from the water. Another stone was released from between his fingers. "Wouldn't wanna kiss Mama with a mouth like that would ya'?" The boy grumbled in response before plopping his scrawny frame onto the ground. His skinny, little arms crossed his chest while a scowl graced his thin face. "Got somethin' t'say, short stack?" A smirk played across the lips of the man as he gave his son a sideways glance, but when the child chose not to respond, he brought his gaze back to the water to skip another stone. "Well, spit it out then. Ain't got all day."

The boy frowned, eyes narrowing at his father. "You kiss Mama, and you don't talk no better'n that. S'not fair that everyone gets to talk how they wanna, but I don't." He hugged his knees to his chest. The kid had no chance in hell of being a big, burly man, what with his his mother being the skinny thing she was and his father being not much better. Looking at the ankles peeking out from the rolled up ends of his baggy jeans, the man felt a pang in his heart as the thought of a little girl, who he tried so hard to save, stumbling atop skinny ankles, much like his son's, out of a barn as one of those monsters. "It ain't fair. I'm almost a growed up! I should be allowed to talk like you and Uncle Merle and Uncle Rick and Carl. Mama'd still love me if I did. She still loves you, right? She ain't gonna leave us if I say stuff like 'shit' an' 'ass' sometimes. Ain't hurtin' nothin' when I say that stuff. Don't mean to anyway."

The man's brother had said to him, waving his good hand around in his own animated fashion, that the kid was following in his father's footsteps: trying to be a little man in a world that was way tougher than he was. "You can talk like that when you've killed as many of them geeks as Merle, me, and Rick have, deal?" With a grimace still painted on his face, the boy lifted his chin to rest in the valley his knees created when placed together. The father placed a hand on his son's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. Any thought Merle had given him about the boy being just like him started to slip away.

Despite the world having gone to shit years ago, the kid was in a better place than he ever had been. His mama was a good, kind woman, who showed how much she loved her child every chance she got. Having had many a worry about being a father, the man had stepped up and was doing his best to not become like his own father. "Listen, Cy," he started, the boy's face perking at the sound of his name being uttered. "I know it's gonna get rough sometimes. It ain't exactly the best time ta' be a kid right now, but that doesn't mean ya' gotta act all big and tough all the time, y'know?" Big blue eyes stared up into a pair of slightly grayer eyes. His speech was not going as he planned, and he was inwardly panicking. "I guess I'm sayin' it's important t'let yourself be a kid instead of forcing yourself t'be a grown up." The boy's eyes narrowed as if he were trying to comprehend the words being spoken to him. "Oh, and don't take any of Asskicker's shit. Just 'cause she's bigger than you now don't mean she needs t'act all high an' mighty."

A laugh forced its way out of the boy's mouth even though he tried his very best to stop it. Almost as soon as he did, his serious expression came back. "That's another thing I gotta question 'bout," he said while stretching his legs back out. "I know me and Judy both got stupid names. Judith ain't too good and neither is Cyrus, so why does she get the good nickname? Baby Dixon is dumb. Lil' Asskicker is way better. I think that should be mine instead 'cause I'm way better at kickin'… butt. I don't get why she gets a good one. Judy's a wimp."

Images of the day Judith Grimes was brought into the world played through his mind. She really was an ass kicking baby, having such a gruesome start. It was a miracle she made it a week, let alone any number of years. "I'll tell ya' why someday, but I don't think now's the time." In all truth, he hoped the boy would drop the subject and never bring it up again. The day was one that seemed to drill holes in his heart. It was the day they thought they lost three of their people; the day he gave up and didn't even look for the woman he had grown to care for so much. "'Sides, ya've got a fine name. It was your mama's daddy's name, and you should be thankful anyway. Mama wanted to name ya' Theodore. Imagine everyone 'round here callin' ya' Teddy. Ya' also didn't get my daddy's name. Eugene was a shit name for a piss poor dad."

"Uncle Merle must be like him a little then," the boy concluded, standing to put his boots back on. Shock was written all across the father's face as he stood with his son to lace up his own boots. "Looks like a Eugene, and he can be pretty nasty sometimes." The boy picked up a handful of wet pebbles and shoved them into his pocket before he smiled up at his dumbfounded father. "'Sides, you said he was a bad daddy, so you sure ain't like him then."

All hesitance he once felt towards being a father had melted away once he held his son for the first time. It wasn't until that moment that it all felt so real, but ever since that day, he had fought every memory of his own horrible childhood, what that little girl's childhood must have been like. The scars were there as an ever-present reminder of his daddy, yet he seemed to be doing better than he had expected, than anyone had expected. "C'mon," he said in a gravely tone, lifting up the string of woodland creatures that had been lying out next to him. "Yer Mama's gonna be pissed somethin' fierce if we don't get back soon. Gotta get her this meat, too. Woman makes damn near the best squirrel stew I ever did taste."

The little boy's eyes lit up at the mention of his mother's cooking, sending him off a step ahead of his father. A weight felt as though it was lifted off of the man's shoulders when the boy returned to a more carefree, childlike demeanor. "Daddy, d'you Mama'll make stew tonight? I hope she does. We still got plenty'a veggies, and there's more'n enough meat there for stew. I hope she makes rabbit stew first that's my favorite. It's Judy's favorite, too." Adjusting his loosely fitting pants, the boy continued to blabber on, "Judy said that her and me's gonna try out the slingshot you made me for m'birthday. That's why I got all them pebbles back there. Said she was gonna get some cans from Mama and Beth and Maggie and anyone else."

As his son continued to talk at him, he felt his heart swell. Life had dealt him the shittiest hand it possibly could, but he played it. There were times where he didn't think it was even worth it, ready to fold; however, there would be one thing that keep him going, then another, and another. "Daddy, I think today was a good day."

"I think so, too, lil' man."

It only took the end of the world to get a win, and that was okay with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Emerald Kitten- I'm glad you like him. :) So far, I'm enjoying Baby Dixon, so hopefully there will be lots more of him to come. Thank you!**

**spygrrl99- I always imagined Daryl would be a sweetie if he got the chance to be a dad.**

**JackAndHoney- Thank you so much! Glad you're enjoying. I debated putting Mingus in there as a name Carol wanted, but decided she would have wanted to use T-Dog's name instead.**

**Supfan- Excellent! I love bringing smiles to people's faces. :)**

**crystal2817- Thank you! I'm so glad.**

**deelove1- Thank you. :)**

**HGRHfan35- Adorable Daryl and Baby Dixon are my favorite duo. I'm glad I was able to pull off the cuteness.**

**itsi3- I'm very glad, and I hope you will continue to do so.**

**Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and such! I appreciate it so much, and I'm so, so glad that you're enjoying this so far! I hope you'll like this one just as much, you beautiful, beautiful people.**

**- Gabby**

_2. New_

February was cold and wet three years after hell came to earth. The group had moved from the quarry, to the CDC, to the farm, to the prison, and finally to the small, ghost town that they had secured after being on the road for what seemed like an eternity. Walled off, the small collection of buildings was closed off from the walkers that were begging to get in and take a bite out of each and every one of them. They were safe now, though. Months had gone by without a breach of the wall they had built, and it was something they were proud of even if Merle ran his mouth about how their town was going to end the same way Woodbury did, which usually garnered the response: "Shut up, jackass."

On a particularly cold evening, the Dixon brothers had taken watch, standing atop the wall with weapons in hand. Watching the pair, you'd think they barely knew or even liked each other, hardly giving one another even a passing glance. That was on a normal Dixon watch. This particular watch, though, had the brothers standing very close to each other, the younger looking rather rigid while the older placed a hand on his shoulder. "Little brother, you need to lighten up a little." The taunting smile that played on Merle's lips made him squirm on the inside. "Everything's gonna be just fine. This's just how things like this go. Ain't nothin' for you t'be worryin' 'bout."

Daryl yanked his shoulder out of the grasp of his older brother. "Get offa' me, and quit tellin' me I ain't got nothin' to worry about. I got plenty'a things ta' worry about, and I'll worry about 'em if I wanna, jackoff." Bite was evident in his voice; an element usually not present when he spoke to his brother. He pulled the colorful poncho he was wearing tighter around him. As darkness had claimed the land that day, snow began to fall in heavy flakes onto the earth, covering everything in a white, glistening powder. "'Sides you'd be just as nervous. If you say you wouldn't be, you's a damn liar and an asshole t'boot. You're lucky they've let ya' stay this long."

Snorting and turning in the opposite direction of his little brother, Merle scanned the white, wooded area before them. Both of the Dixons had their qualms about the subject, but he figured he would be the one to point it out for the younger brother and not have it thrown back into his face. Having had the childhood they did, it was unlikely they would come out unscathed. "Ya' ain't gonna be like 'im, Daryl," he sighed as he shifted his weight from his one foot to the other. "Yer too good t'be like Daddy. Got a good heart, kid, not like Daddy. Not like him at all." With his gun tucked under his bum arm, he placed his good hand back on Daryl's shoulder. "You were always the sweeter one, little brother. Nicer, better'n me or Daddy. A better man'n most people I ever met."

There was nothing daryl could say in response, but their matching steely blue eyes caught each other in a long stare. No words needed to be exchanged between the two. A moment of silence was all they required to communicate anything that needed to be said on the topic. The silence of the blizzard enveloped them, not a crunch on the newly fallen snow. Between the brothers, there had never been too many quiet, intimate moments. Their father did not allow for those to happen frequently, but when they did happen, neither one of the brothers seemed as rough or hostile as they did normally.

"Daryl." Both Dixons snapped their heads in the direction of a voice that had crept up on them. The farmer's daughter stood there with a heavy sweater wrapped around her frame and a gun in her hand. "You should head into the house. She's been askin' for ya'." The woman turned her green-eyed attention to the older Dixon. "Rick should be out in a few minutes to relieve you, Merle." Squeezing by Daryl as they made their way to switch spots on the wall, she gave him a warm smile and a quick pat on the shoulder. "Everything went fine. There's nothing you need to worry about."

She did not know what he did and did not new to worry about. He stomped away toward the building he had left hours beforehand, leaving boot tracks in place of Maggie's in the accumulating snow. The crunch of the fluffy snow was soft beneath the soles of his shoes, so he decided to focus his thoughts on that. The squish of the cold substance under his feet filled his brain. Squish. Crunch. Squeak. Rubber and icy water collided with each step until he reached the door of the brick building where he stood for a good minute before he grabbed the doorknob. "Nothing to worry about," he told himself, staring at his breath that condensed in the air in front of him. "Sounds like a big crock o' bullshit."

The soles of his shoes squeaked on the tiled floor that covered an off white hallway that led to a slightly cracked door. Orange light leaked from the opening in it, most likely emanating from the fireplace in the room. Once he entered, his life would be changed, and he would have two options: be a man or run like a boy. At that moment, he wasn't sure what choice he was going to make.

Pushing the door open, he heard the soft grunts of a small child, similar to those of Lil' Asskicker when she was a baby. In the corner, there was a pile of stained bed sheets rolled and folded into a messy mound. The one-legged, old man leaned on his crutch next to the fireplace, speaking happily in hushed tones to the sheriff. His kind eyes peered over to the Dixon in the doorway, and then he motioned in the direction of the bed on to opposite wall. Taking his eyes from the glow of the fire, the sheriff nodded in acknowledgement with a small congratulatory smile gracing his lips.

A woman snuggled into a large pile of blankets on the far side of the bed, whispering to a bundle in her arms. Her short hair was plastered to her face from an agonizing sweat while a mixture of exhaustion and happiness filled her eyes. "I think someone's here to see you, baby Dixon." One of her close-lipped, curved smiles spread across her features. A joyous glow seemed to radiate off of her despite her obvious fatigue. Her crystal blue eyes drifted to him without the smile leaving her lips. "He's so beautiful."

He: the word echoed in his mind. It was a boy. He shouldn't have expected anything other than a boy. Dixons didn't make them any other way. At the same time, the thought of having a boy scared him shitless. His daddy had boys, Merle and Daryl, and he saw how far that got them. Their daddy and their mama were both deadbeats. Neither did much right by the boys, beating and neglecting them in drunken stupors more often than not. "You wanna meet your daddy, lil' man?" Before he had a chance to protest, she was holding the tiny, blanketed bundle towards him. "He isn't going to bite you, Daryl. Doesn't even have any teeth to do that yet, so c'mon."

Obediently, he slid into the space next to the bed, holding his nervously shaking arms out to receive the child. A part of him did not want to hold the child; he wanted to save the kid the grief of having a shit head for a father. The little boy seemed so much lighter than the Grimes girl had, so much more fragile. The tiny torso of the baby could not have been much larger than the span of his hand. Propping the little boy's head up, he stared at the face that was intently studying his own. Round, red cheeks and rosy puckered lips sat below the most perfect blue eyes, his mama's eyes. The orbs were wide and curious, staring down the man's every move as he was held. Tufts of wispy, light blonde hair were starting to stick out in odd directions. Even in the flickering shadows of the fire, he could tell that the boy's mama was right when she said he was beautiful.

"Came out silent," she yawned, cuddling into the mountain of pillows behind her. "Hershel had to give him a hell of a spank to even get him to squeak, but we had to make sure he was okay. He's barely made a peep since." As he carefully sat down on the bed and toed off his boots, a hand ran down his back. "Destined to be a quiet and sneaky little bastard, I think." Her comment make the corners of his lips curl upwards only a little bit. Settling into the bed with her, he felt her body curl into his side. He barely even felt her do it, being too wrapped up in the presence of the child in his arms. "Just like his daddy."

Daddy. He had a lot of names over the years: Daryl, asshole, failure, little brother, pussy. Daddy was never one he thought he would have. In fact, he swore to himself he would do his best to save any little bastard from having to call him that, yet here he was. Daddy. "Damn right, he will be," he replied in a gravely whisper. "Quiet like a hunter with his mama's eyes." A chuckle came from her before another yawn escaped her lips. She muttered something about going to sleep and waking her up when he needed to be fed, so he simply nodded. As she dozed off, she could have sworn she heard him say: "You're lucky, kid. Ya' look like yer mama and not yer ugly as sin pa." Smiling, she let the silence of the snowstorm take over again; the cracks of the fire, soft coos of the baby, and the occasional whisper from Daryl being the only noises filling the room. In that moment, everything was good and right.


	3. Chapter 3

**witnesstoitall- Thank ya. :D I don't know if I'll write an entire chapter on it, or if I'll brush upon it in various different chapters. I haven't quite decided yet.**

**Supfan- Thank you so much!**

**bspooky3- I'm glad you're enjoying so far. :)**

**spygrrl99- Thank you. He seems like he wouldn't know what to do if he were to be the father of a child, but I'd like to think that everything would click at least a little bit once he held the little sucker. I don't think Merle's a bad guy entirely, and I believe he deeply cares for his brother. He'd try to help with something like that, I think. :)**

**crystal2817- Thank you! :)**

**HGRHfan35- Daryl has no idea what he does at all. ;) Carol's smitten by her boys.**

**veganmagase- Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying thus far. Daryl seems like one who would struggle with fatherhood, as he already struggles with having faith in himself without a child, but he's coming around, just as I think he would if he were to have a child. I see pre-Baby Dixon's birth shots are being requested. I may have to do one of those soon.**

**JackAndHoney- I apologize for not elaborating on Hershel's and Rick's whereabouts. I just kind of wanted to focus on the little trio, but I'll avoid forgetting about them next time. :P I got a little excited over the arrival of the baby, I think. I'm Glad you're enjoying otherwise.**

**Tell me you're still you- Presh was the intention. I'm glad I've succeeded!**

**GuiltyBystanders- Well, that may come to you in the future, my friend.**

**crazstiz- Thank you very much. :)**

**carylfan- Thank you so much. That means a lot. :D**

**Thank to everyone who has read and welcome if you're just starting now! I'm so glad everyone's enjoying this so far! This next bit was written more hastily so I apologize in advance if it's a bit choppy. The hopes were high for this one, but I kind of failed myself. I do hope you enjoy even if it's only slight enjoyment, though. :)**

**-Gabby**

_3. Scream_

Devastation filled the air in the small town they had been living in for nearly a decade. The scent of soot and the dead wafted from the war that had raged on the previous night. There had been fire everywhere, attracting what seemed like every walker in the state to their home. Bandits from the surrounding woods attempted to climb the walls to get supplies before the town was overrun. The little boy had never been so frightened in his life. He never witnessed the living trying to kill one another. His short eight years had been lived in relative peace until that night.

When the fighting broke out, his daddy had left, running with his crossbow in hand. He told his son and woman to stay inside and not to come out until everything was settled and the commotion was over. Of course, the boy's mama had none of that. Only moments later, she was grabbing her gun and shoving extra ammo into her pockets. The child cried to her, telling her that Daddy told them to stay put while the fight was happening. She gave her son one of the small smiles both he and his daddy loved so much and replied to him: "Little man, you have to hold down the fort here. I have to go help Daddy, but we're trusting you to keep this place safe, okay? If you hear anyone out there in that hallway, you climb into that spot I the closet and get as quiet as you can. Hear me?" She rested a hand against his tear-stained cheek while she shed a few of her own. "I love you, baby. More than anything." With those words, she was gone.

He sat obediently on the bed with his legs cross in front of him and a small gun in his lap for an eternity. Time ticked on for what seemed like forever to him. Gunshots rang out in the quiet autumn air. Screams and shouts echoed in the night. The groans of a herd of walkers sounded through what should have been a calm night. Heavy footsteps came from below in his building. He took a brief moment to listen, concluding the feet did not belong to his father or his uncle. With the stealthy step his father taught him when they went hunting together, he slipped into the closet and through a crawl space that was located behind a box of old clothes. Knowing the risk of pushing the box against the wood floor and creating noise, his little arms lifted it just far enough to allow him entrance and exit to the crawl space. There, he waited for his mama, his daddy... for anyone really.

It was not until the white light of morning seeped under the bottom of the closet door that he knew it was safe to leave his hiding place. His mama never came back, and his daddy did not either. They would never leave him like that. he knew they would come back for him, but he could not keep the sick feeling out of the pit of his stomach. Each step he took felt more and more frantic until he exited the building he had grown to call his home. Outside, remains of walkers were scattered about while others were being hauled by members of the group to the far wall on the other side of their home. The farmer's daughters were holding each other, sobbing hysterically, with their elderly father grasping onto his girls as if for dear life. Sheriff Rick was with his son and daughter, a hand on each of their shoulders talking to them quietly with tears in his eyes.

Everyone had their families except for him. "Mama?" he shouted, drawing the attention of the sheriff. The boy half-expected his mother to come running out from one of the buildings to sweep him up into her arms. She did not. "Daddy?" His voice was growing panicked. Whipping his head around, he looked for any sign of them: his daddy's bow or his mama's red shirt. Once again, he came up empty handed. "Mama? Daddy?" His skinny legs, chicken legs as his Uncle Merle called them, brought him stumbling down the set of stairs that led into the building. "Mama! Daddy!" He was shrieking, not knowing what else to do. It was rare that he was without both of his parents.

Sobs wracked the little boy's body, his knees giving out underneath his weight. It was impossible. They would never leave him like that. Not without giving him the proper goodbye. They would have come back to him by now. Nothing would keep them away this long unless they were never coming back. "Cy." The sheriff's daughter was sitting next to him. "Daddy says he hasn't seen your mommy or daddy since last night. Told me not to tell you, but I thought you should know." Her hand found his and gave it a small squeeze. "I'm sorry."

As suddenly as she grabbed his hand, he snatched it back like he had been burned. "Daddy's i'vincible, though," he sniffed, bowing his head so she would not be able to see his tears. "Said no stupid geek can kill 'im, and the only thing that can kill a Dixon is a Dixon. He has to be okay. He ain't allowed t'do that t'me." Steady rivers flowed from his eyes and onto the hard dirt below him. "And Mama's always so careful 'specially when she's with Daddy. Don't ever miss a beat. Don't ever step outta line. She's good at that. Wouldn't ever let nothin' happen to Daddy. 'Sides she's a Dixon too, right? Ain't nothing can kill us but us." She let him ramble on, talking with hope that his parents were still alive. Everyone around knew that his hopes were most likely just that, but she figured it would at least be good for him to talk for a bit. "Judy, why'd they do this t'me? They ain't allowed ta' leave me all alone. They-"

"Cyrus?" His head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice calling his name. Watering blue eyes met each other, and in an instant, he had scrambled to his feet and taken off in a sprint. The gravel beneath his feet felt like it was slowing him down no matter how fast he ran. His heart was pounding in his chest. "Baby boy!" Two bodies collided together, clinging to each other as if their lives depended the embrace. He buried his face into the woman's neck and closed his arms tightly around her trembling frame. "Oh god." She pulled back to take a look at his face while tears streamed down her own. A hand raised to his cheek, thumb pushing the tears away. "I wasn't sure if I was ever gonna see you again, bud." Once again, he was pulled into her chest, her sobs continuing.

A strong pair of arms came around them. The familiar scent of the woods and sweat filled their air. "Hell," the gruff sigh came from above as his daddy tightened the grip he had on them. "You people are gonna be the death of me." At that moment, his daddy did something he never thought he would ever see: the grown man broke into tears. Sinking to his knees, the man pulled his family close together. He held them with the same urgency the mother and son had when they first reunited. "Thank god," he whispered, voice breaking.


	4. Chapter 4

**GuiltyBystanders- Truth be told, I did almost end it differently... a way that would not have left you guys with happy feelings.**

**Supfan- Isn't that the truth? I wish that wasn't always the case, but then I suppose that's always a reason to keeping pushing ourselves as writers, as well. Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed. :)**

**Enecs- Oh no! I didn't mean to make you cry! :O**

**Emerald Kitten- I love Cyrus! He's a sassy little cutie pie. Writing kids is such a fun time. **

**spygrrl99- I may or may not have originally written this ending with one of them being injured... coughCarolcough... and the other being dead... coughDarylcough. But I thought better of it. The story only just started. I couldn't kill someone off quite yet.**

**HGRHfan35- Ahh! I certainly didn't intend to cause early morning tears. I'm glad you enjoyed, though.**

**daryl-dixon's-poncho- No, no, don't be dead. Thank you very much. It's good to hear you're liking this so far.**

**Tell me you're still you- I would make Carol be pregnant because Caryl babies are just to die for, but I feel that, while she isn't old in the slightest, she would be getting a little older to be bearing children. Who knows, though? Anything is a possibility. :)**

**Bahahaval- Thanks! I love writing feel-y things! I'm happy you enjoyed. :)**

**Thank you, as always, for reading. :) You all are beautiful and wonderful individuals! This next bit is another one I'm not entirely thrilled with, but I think it will do. The fluff bunnies haven't been leaving my brain recently. I'm sorry if fluff isn't really your thing. The next chapter I have written out is slightly less flufftastic, but more angsty and Merle-filled. :D**

**-Gabby**

_4. Tears_

When he was a little boy, Baby Dixon had decided to let indulge in the smaller aspects of life, claiming autumn was his favorite time of the year. Something about the changing leaves and the cold evenings had always made the happy butterflies rise in his stomach. His mama told him his sister, who was in heaven, always liked spring better than any other time of year. While he understood why she would have as that was when the warmth came back to the air, he always liked it better when it was chilly. He explained to his mama that red was his favorite color. During autumn there was so much red everywhere, unlike the green spring brought. That was one of his favorite things about it.

Autumn was when he took his first trip out into the woods with his father. The boy had only been five, maybe even a little bit younger, and though his mother vehemently protested taking a child into the walker-infested woods, the boy's father simply told her that no son of his was going to grow up not knowing was it was like to be in the woods. As his first time leaving their secure town, he was amazed by the fantastic world that was just beyond the walls protecting him. Trees that had to be at least a hundred times his size stood above them with their brightly colored leaves swinging in the gentle breeze. He clung to his father's side as they walked slowly through the wooded area, leaves crinkling beneath their feet.

Each time the older Dixon would shoot down a small creature, the boy would let out a small, victorious 'yeah!' before scurrying to retrieve it. It was such an adventure and a change of pace from being stuck in town. As the day wore on, his excitement never ceased, though he became increasingly pensive. "You're quiet," his father muttered, aiming his crossbow to take out another squirrel. "Ya' wouldn't shut up when we first got out here, and now, you're quiet as a mouse. What's goin' on in that head of yours, kid?" Cursing when the creature skittered into the brush, the man glanced down at his son, who stared back with wide, blue eyes. "Can't help ya' if you won't tell me what you're thinkin' 'bout."

Eons seemed to pass as the boy thought of what to say in response. Like his father, he had never one to talk much about what he was thinking, but when he did, his mother's eloquent use of words came out. It was as though he was pondering each word separately when they came to his mind. Though he would never admit it, this aspect of the boy's mama was something the father was proud his son gained. No Dixon he could remember was ever good with words. From what he could recall, most of them could barely read at a fifth grade level. Being one of the few in his family to actually finish school, barely passing but finishing no less, he was about as good as it got, so knowing his boy got his mama's brains was something that relieved him a bit. Not to say he was always using his language properly, as his mama would frequently tell him. Growing up in a post-apocalyptic world did not always facilitate children learning to use proper grammar.

"Why do the trees cry, Daddy?" the young boy finally asked, toeing the leaves at his feet with the tip of his shoe. "They don't got nothin' to feel sad 'bout, so why do they cry? They should be happy 'cause they get to be orange, and yellow, and red. They 'oughta be happy about being red the most 'cause red's the best color ever." Many would disagree with his sentiment. Red was the color of death and destruction at this time, only associated with the end of a person's days. "So, why they gotta keep cryin' like that?" The man had no idea what the boy could be referring to. Tree did not cry. He was aware of that, but for some reason, his son thought they did. "Watch."

A thin finger pointed to a singular, orange leaf that was precariously dangling from a branch. With the next soft breeze, the crisp leaf fell gracefully to the ground to join the others that had once been in the same place. The boy began to mutter something about the tree being ungrateful for having such nice colored leaves. "The tree ain't cryin'. Leaves fall off every year. Don't mean the trees are cryin'." Chuckling to himself, the father patted his son's back. Though the boy was unsatisfied with this response, he only gave a grunt to show it. "C'mon. Let's get headin' back. Need us there before anything can start tonight. 'Sides, we need to get these kills back before your mama has a fit." Before the little one could protest, his father scooped him up and perched him atop his shoulders, skinny legs wrapping around the back of the older man's neck.

Although the child attempted to stifle a giggle, he failed miserably as he held onto the top of his father's head. Content to watch the nature around him, he settled down, eyes gazing in wonder at the tall, crying trees. He chose not to believe his father about the trees. It was too difficult to believe that something could not be sad about losing an item as beautiful as the colorful leaves. "They ain't sad," his father spoke up suddenly as they approached the walls of their town. "They're happy... happy they've got nice things even if they only have those things only last for a little while."

For a moment, the boy glanced back at the forest that was now slowly but surely fading into the distance. The trees began to turn into orange, red, and yellow blobs. Trunks started to blend together in a dark brown mass below the beautiful colors. "Why they gotta cry, though? Don't make no sense to cry when you're happy. Mama, and Judy, and Uncle Rick, and Mister Hershel only cry when they's sad. They don't never cry when they get happy. That's when you smile, not cry." He spied his one-handed uncle catch a glimpse of them before whistling to someone standing below him and behind the wall. "Doesn't make sense, Daddy. They can't be happy and cry at the same time. That ain't how it works."

The gate that sealed their home from the walkers outside opened as they came to it, allowing the duo entrance. Unlike the peaceful calm they had experienced out in the wilderness, the members of their group were scurrying around a few picnic tables set up with some yellow and pink streamers. "Now, boy," his uncle called to him. "You make sure t'give your mama a big ol' happy birthday kiss and do whatever she says. Woman's done more than enough t'deserve that." He had almost forgotten it was, in fact, his mother's birthday. Well, they had assumed it had to be close at least, so a small celebration was put into the works for her. "Damnit! You fools done went and ruined the damn surprise!"

The boy's mama stood in the doorway of the building they took residence in with a look that was a mix of shock and overwhelming joy as a delayed 'surprise!' came from her friends and family. Raising her hand to her mouth, she could only shake her head and give a wide, toothy smile in response. "Happy birthday, Mama!" After wiggling for all of a second, the boy was placed onto the ground and took a running start at the woman, who was still recovering from shock. "Happy birthday!" His arms wound around her neck tightly while she lifted him into the air. One of his favorite parts about his mama was how she always smelled like whatever food she was making and dish soap. When he hugged her, he could always smell the soap and food in her neck and hair, and something about that made him smile. "I love you, best mama ever." Though her arms wrapped tighter around his thin frame, he could tell something was off about it. Tiny droplets fell into the crook of his neck. Knowing it was too cool for either of them to be sweating, he pulled away to see her crying. With a little hand resting on her cheek, he told her: "Mama, don't cry. Don't be sad. It's your birthday, and I love you. You don't gotta be sad." In an attempt to make her crying stop, he shot her a broad grin.

Laughing through her tears, she rested her hand atop his. "Oh, I'm not sad, baby. I'm not sad at all." She placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'm happy, very happy. Happy to be here with all of my family. I'm thankful to have you all here... that you all did this for me." Briefly, she looked around at each smiling face around her. Life was really what everyone was thankful for. It was so rare that they were able to celebrate milestones like birthdays in the world they lived in now. "Thank you." Her eyes moved back to her son, tears still spilling from them. "Sometimes, you just get so happy that you cry. It doesn't have to mean you're sad. How could I be sad when I'm look at this face?" His nose scrunched when she pinched his cheek.

"Told you," said his daddy as the man snaked an arm around the woman's waist. "Happy birthday, Carol." Unlike Lil' Asskicker, who was standing near one of the tables, with her eyes staring greedily at a tray of cookies, the boy never even hinted to being grossed out when his mama and daddy kissed. (Even though her mama passed on long ago, she had seen her daddy kiss other ladies.) In fact, he guessed it was because she lost her mama that he was almost glad to see his parents kiss. His lips stayed pressed together in a smile as his daddy brushed his lips up against his mama's. "I know you didn't want him out today." His father nodded toward him. "Had to get him outta here, so he wouldn't spoil anything. He wouldn't 'ave been able to keep this a secret from ya' all day." He always liked watching the way his parents took to looking at each other. There was a just a certain happiness that seemed to radiate from the two that seemed rare at that time. It made him feel a giddiness build up in him to see that people could be happy. "Don't you go tryin' to help out with stuff now. This is your thing. Take a day to relax."

Not giving her a moment to argue, he led her towards the tables where everyone was gravitating. A modest spread of cookies and other snacks had been displayed across the wooden tables. "Mama, how old are you?" the little boy asked, still in her arms as he stretched to reach a cookie.

Before she could answer, his daddy flicked the back of his arm lightly. "Where's your manners, boy?" He frowned as he nibbled at the edge of his cookie. "You don't ask a lady how old she is. It ain't polite."

"Don't be silly, Daryl." She smiled brightly at the two of them. If he had known better, he would have known that what she was about to say was completely untrue. "If my calculations are correct, I'd say it's definitely my twenty-ninth birthday. Maybe even my second twenty-ninth birthday. Who can be sure, though?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Tell me you're still you- Excellent, I'm glad you're enjoying! :D**

**GuiltyBystanders- Thank you so much! :)**

**bspooky3- No, no. No tears unless they're happy tears because the lil' family was reunited. :) Thanks for tuning in! I'm glad you're liking it so far.**

**HGRHfan35- Happy tears are the best kind of tears, seeing as the other kinds of tears are probably the opposite of good. :P I'm trying to figure out something for spring. I have a thing for writing season-themed pieces. Unfortunately, this one is not spring either. Have a good weekend, too, lady! :D**

**spygrrl99- I thought it would be a nice, comical addition to the end there. Carol can be a sassy cat sometimes, so I figured she'd say funny things sometimes. I could imagine it would be quite difficult being born into a post-apocalyptic world and only being able to know bits and pieces of how the world used to be, almost like the stories of before are like fairy tales. It's sad to think about.**

**Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing, as always. Look, here's another update! GASP. I was snowed in today, and decided to finish this one up. I hope you all enjoy it. I, myself, feel guilty for writing it after seeing a post on tumblr that shows a quote of Michael Rooker saying "Merle likes kitties, little puppies, little kids..." and other such innocent things. Mind you, he is drunk. That's all I will say. I hope you all continue to enjoy!**

**-Gabby**

The summer in Georgia was always hot and sticky, almost unbearable. Even when the bright sun would fall into the horizon and allow the blanket of darkness to take over the sky, the air was still thick with the heat and humidity of the day. Rarely would anyone complain, believing that it was a miracle that they were all still alive let alone feeling the sensation of being warm, but they all thought it. Anyone who said otherwise was either lying to themselves or just a liar altogether. The adults in the group always talked about the time when there were machines that made cold air in the summer. He always knew they must have been joking with him, though, because such a thing could only exist in stories, made-up stories no less.

Summer also brought back memories of peaches and swimming: the cool delights one could partake in to escape the intense heat. The best days in summer, according to the littlest Dixon, were those that were spent indoors while the sky poured down from above. At least for a day or so, the rain usually made the high temperatures slightly more bearable. Asskicker usually hated those days and was more than confused when he explained that he loved them. As the two grew, they were the best of friends, sharing in the enjoyment of the occasional cool drink they might receive or giggling at a joke around the fire. Even when they entered their teenage years, they maintained their friendship regardless of her beginning to act a little strange around him.

When the old farmer passed away in June one year, it rained a lot. His death was taken hard by both of his girls, so naturally, members of the group gravitated toward them to give any sort of comfort they could. Fortunately, each of the girls had one person in particular to be there for them when no one else could. That summer, Asskicker's brother hung around the younger of the farmer's daughters an awful lot, leaving the young Grimes girl to entertain herself, which was a nearly impossible task that Little Dixon had thrust upon him. She was about fifteen, making him near the age of thirteen, and for a reason unknown to him, her daddy started to give him looks he rarely received: very serious, verging on angry looks.

It was not until one night that he realized why the sheriff had been passing him dirty looks. They had been sitting out on the roof of the building the Grimes family had taken residence in on one of the rare evening when the rain had ceased. Their time up there was more than innocent as he showed her what stars his daddy had taught him about, like Darco, Hercules, and the dippers. He liked that it kept her quiet. Over the years, he took note that it was easier to just let her talk to her heart's content, but it still annoyed him to no end. Though he was enjoying the silence, it made him feel a tad uneasy. Little Asskicker never stopped talking. When she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, his uneasiness felt justified. "The hell was that for?" he had snapped at her, scooting away from her as quickly as he was able. His face grew hot, and blood pounded in his ears. With a quirk of her eyebrow, she simply gave him a small smirk before she climbed through the window that led them outside in the first place.

Knowing full well his daddy was most definitely not the one to talk to about girl-related issues, he went in search of his Uncle Merle after bidding Asskicker, her brother, and the blonde farmer's daughter goodnight. He figured that if one of the Dixon brothers was a complete moron in the department of women, there might be a good chance the other was a pro. "Psst, Glenn," he called up to the man that was currently on the wall. He had grown to enjoy the Korean man's entertaining stories of delivering pizzas before the dead took over the earth. Once he was on watch, however, the man turned into a stone. No smiles or jokes were allowed when it came to protecting his people. "D'you know if Uncle Merle is on watch?" When the man shook his head then returned to his watch, the youngest Dixon frowned.

Something he never wanted to do was enter his uncle's abode. Approaching his Uncle Merle anywhere else was no problem at all, but there was an air of caution he felt the need to take when it came to entering his uncle's place of dwelling. Most nights, no one bothered the brute once he was tucked away for the evening except for the man's brother. This made the littlest Dixon even more uneasy than the kiss Asskicker gave him, but he thought that advice was something undeniably in need of after what happened. His daddy's voice was in the back of his head, telling him: "Don't you go in there, kid. Yer' uncle ain't one to trifle with after he calls it a night. Just stay outta there."

The spot his uncle chose, the shabbiest of all the buildings he noted, was close to the wall and had a light shining through the window at the top of the door. It meant one of two things: his uncle was up and was not to be disturbed or his uncle fell asleep with the light on and was not to be disturbed. Since he seemed to have found himself to be gaining proclivity for trouble that evening, he took a deep breath in and knocked on the door. His uncle never did wrong by him. He would even go so far as to say his uncle was one of the funniest people he had me, so he knew the adults around him must have been exaggerating to make sure he never bothered the man.

After minutes had passed and he was just about to give up on his feat, the door swung open, a tall, dark shadow looming over his lanky body. "What the hell you doin' here, boy?" The man's face was covered in shadows, but still looked rugged and tired in the dim light of the many candles burning inside. Much like the boy's daddy, he wore a dark-colored, which was assumed to be navy blue at one point, shirt that had buttons and, unlike the boy's father, the sleeves rolled up. The wife beater top he wore was permanently stained yellow from the sweaty man. Sweaty was once the way the boy described his uncle because it was rare that he saw him not sweating in some way, shape, or form. "Ya' just gonna stand there all quiet, or are ya' gonn' give me an answer?"

His uncle's eyes were much like those of his father, icy, grey-blue, though his daddy's were significantly kinder than his uncle's in that moment. The pair that stared at him, inches away from his own as the older man leaned close to the boy, were glazed over, glaring at him with a distaste that gave him a sick feeling in his gut. A bitter smell wafted into his nostrils from the heavy breaths of the large man that made him gag. This was not the uncle he was used to seeing. This man had no cocky grins, snide remarks, snarky comebacks. No, this man was someone else completely. "Whatcha' got t'say, chicken legs? Hm, ya' come here for a good ol' talk with ya' Uncle Mere, didja'?" His uncle continued to slur words out as his good hand reached out to grab the collar of his nephew's shirt. Pulling him closer, their noses were almost touching.

The stale, sour stench of the older Dixon brother's breath blew all over his face while the vice grip the man had on his collar grew tighter. With little else to do, the boy flinched away. "What's th' matter, boy? Scared of Merle here? Naw, ya' ain't got nothin' to be 'fraid of?" Yellowing teeth flashed a menacing grin. "Damnit, look at me!" Frightened beyond belief, his eyes raised away from the yellowing shirt he had chosen to focus on. The look in his uncle's eyes brought only more fear into his heart, seeing only narrowed slits in the darkness. "Ya' took him away from me. You and tha' woman turned 'im soft on me. Now, I ain't got nowhere t'go. Trapped 'ere like a mouse in a trap." With a quick yank, their faces were touching, and there was no hiding the shaking his terror was causing him.

"But y'know I ain't no mouse, boy." In an instant, he was on the ground with a searing pain emanating from his cheek. "I ain't no mouse! Tha's mah brother!" His back throbbed as a hard object collided with it, a shriek of pain escaping his lungs at a volume and an octave that would attract any walker that was nearby. The item continued to make contact with his back over and over again. Stars appeared on the backs of his eyelids through the tears he was attempting to hold back. The taste of metal and salt dripped into his mouth as a stream of blood from his nose and stray tears fell down his face. "He's mine!"

A click from a gun sounded from somewhere in the distance, the ringing in his ears not allowing him to be able to pinpoint an exact location. "So help me god, Merle," a raspy voice said in amidst sound of doors opening and gasps. "I'll kill you, brother." His daddy. That man was always there when he needed him. His heart began pounding in his chest, wanting to get up to see his father but worrying his uncle would start up with the beating again. "I don't care none if ya' got into the booze. That's my kid, and you laid your hand on him. It ain't—" A gunshot rang through the air, followed by a bloodcurdling scream from his uncle. Attempting to turn his head to see what was going on behind him, a whimper came out instead. Everything hurt, many regrets flying through his head. "Christ." Quick footsteps, two sets of them, came towards his battered body. "Cyrus?"

There was a soft touch on his back then on his cheek, turning his head carefully to face away from his uncle, who was writhing in pain just inside the door of his home. "Baby, can you hear me?" He opened his teary eyes to see his mama and daddy staring down at him with concern painted all over their faces. Never had he ever been so glad to see the pair looking so worried. Just beyond them, he saw Asskicker standing beside her brother with her hands over her mouth and wet streaks falling down her cheeks. "You're going to be just fine, sweetheart. Don't you worry, okay?"

An arm wrapped itself around his back, loosening its grip when he cringed and squeezed his eyes shut again, and the other slid under his knees. "Think you can check him out?" the gruff voice of his daddy asked. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the blurry image of his father, carrying him to their home down the stone-covered road from his uncle's. "Rick and I have some shit to discuss about what happened here." He heard the man sigh as he stepped through the doorway that was opened by his mama. "Y'shouldn't have shot him."

"No, I did." With those words, he felt himself drift off into a painfully light sleep before his father placed him lightly onto a bed, fearing his uncle would be back. Each gentle touch of his mother woke him, even if only slightly. With the farmer gone, his mama had become the group's new doctor. Though she did not have the expertise of the old man, the helpful nature she had made her better suited for the job than anyone else. "This shouldn't have happened," he heard her whisper at some point during the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**crystal2817- I felt bad doing that to poor Baby Dixon. He certainly didn't deserve something like that. :(**

**HGRHfan35- Oh yeah, she did. BADASS MAMA CAROL TO THE RESCUE, PROTECTIN' HER BABEH! Merle and Cyrus were outside of Merle's home, and everyone heard the poor thing screaming. Oh no, don't cry! I don't mean to bring the sads! D:**

**supfan- Thank you! Baby Dixon is my current love. :3 Glad you're enjoying.**

**Tell me you're still you- I think it was a combination of the two. He probably had some residual jealousy towards both Carol and Cyrus, who essentially tore his brother's attention from him. **

**spygrrl99- I could imagine Merle getting to be a really nasty guy if you managed to get him drunk enough. Judging by his attachment to Daryl, I can't even begin to describe the resentment he would have towards his brother having someone more important than him in his life. No, Carol didn't kill him. I imagined she shot him in the shoulder or leg just to wound him enough to get him off of her baby. I haven't decided Merle's fate yet. We'll just have to wait and see. :D**

**GuiltyBystanders- I don't know about poor wounded Merle. He became prince of the douchebag's there, I think. Thank you so much, and I do apologize for bringing the sad feelings.**

**libfulknot- ** **Carol was laying down the law. She wasn't going to stand for another one of her children getting beat up.**

**crazstiz- Oh my goodness, that would have been awesome. Maybe I can arrange something for a future chapter. I love writing Jude's character almost as much as Cyrus. I just picture her being such a little imp.**

**BlueJean452- Thank you so much! :)**

**I'm sorry this update has taken so long to get up. Life in the real world has been crazy, so I haven't really had too much time to be writing. Spring break is coming, which should grant me a lot of time to write. ALSO, can we talk about sassy Carol being sassy in this Sunday's new episode? I'm so excited!**

**Thank you so much as always for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and all that jazz! It means so much to me that you guys are enjoying my little baby of a story so much. :) I hope you all like this bit just as much, though it doesn't give a Merle resolution, which I apologize for. **

**-Gabby**

_6. Cherish_

Spring always brought the prettiest sunrises. At least, Baby Dixon thought this was the case. Summer had the sunset card in the bag, but spring took the cake with sunrises. The older members of the group always described the sunrises they would see as being the color of sherbet or orange creamsicles, leaving the two youngest to wonder about what kind of food could have possibly existed in the old world. Anything that took on the pastel colors of the morning sky could not have been too good for a person to consume, they decided. Once he was old enough, Baby Dixon was often put on watch from dawn, after his daddy came in from his own shift, until mid-morning when he switched out with the older, Russian man they had allowed to join in their shelter among many more.

Most days, he was put on watch with Asskicker, which he never seemed to mind. Approaching eighteen-years-old, he had taken to her previous advances. The nervousness flops his stomach did whenever she was around had taken some getting used to, but he was managing. "You're an odd boy, Cyrus Dixon," she would say quietly with eyes trained on the sun that was peeking over the horizon. He was never sure what exactly she meant by that, so he generally gave his daddy's signature grunt as a response. Like him, she was tall and lean with legs that seemed to go on for days, dangling over the side of the wall. She was a spitting image of her own mama, hair falling in dark, loose curls down her back and wide, hazel eyes always examining everything that fell under their gaze.

Unlike Asskicker, he was always being told he had his mama's eyes and his daddy's ears and his mama's nose and his daddy's lips. Most of the time he wished he only looked like one of the two. It would cut down on the time it took to decide if people were correct in their connections between his appearance and those of his parents. "All that thinkin' is gonna make your head explode, B.D.," commented Asskicker as she pulled her legs up to her chest. Giving her a sideways glance, he took a mental snapshot of how she looked in the pale, orange light of the morning sun. "Lookin' at me for too long'll do the same thing." Through narrowed eyes, he watched her turn to him with a cheeky grin plastered on her face. "Stop it now. I know you're all sweet on me and everything, but that doesn't give you an excuse to let your head go and explode." Quickly, he turned away, hoping that the warm color of the rising sun hid the red that was creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. "Well, it seems I've finally mastered the art of making a Dixon blush. I'll be damned." Every part of his brain wanted to spew out every cuss he knew, but he refrained. Instead, he turned his body away from her. "Y'know, I'm just kidding, Cy."

His eyes drifted back over his shoulder, where she was looking out into the distance again. "I know," he muttered, turning his face away from her again. Her long fingers rested on the center of his back and made a trail down his spine even though he tensed at her touch. "Just have a lot on my mind right now, y'know?" Scooting away from her only the slightest bit, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. For weeks, they had been having the same sort of interaction, not that her running her mouth and him staying silent was entirely uncommon. "Sorry if I've been actin' like an ass. I've been worried about my ma, y'know? I feel bad complainin' 'bout it, too, 'cause what happened to yours." He glanced back once again, their eyes meeting this time. A strange mix of sadness and understanding brewed in her stare as she forced a small nod.

Weeks prior, his mother had been tending to one of the newcomers who had seemed to come down with a ferocious cold. After the farmer passed on, she had taken on the duties of the doctor, and she was damn good at it, as his daddy would say. The job suited her; she always wanted to help every person she could and this enabled her to do so. Nearly a week after helping the sick man, she had collapsed on her way to bed. Unexpected to everyone, she had fallen deathly ill, confining her to bed rest for weeks. A fever hit her in waves, coughs wracking her body when it was low and shivers filling her being when it spiked. Most in town were concerned given her age, which had to be approaching, if not already hitting, sixty. Had it been the world before the dead rose, the worry would have been less, but the combination of age and the extent of her illness did not have anyone getting their hopes up. His daddy, who spent most of his time at her bedside, was even preparing for the worst. "Miracle she's lasted this long," the man had mumbled one day while she was asleep.

Asskicker let her legs dangle off the side of the wall once again, the backs of her worn canvas sneakers bumping against the metal. She scooted toward him slowly at first to test the water and then closed the gap between them, so her shoulder was brushing the back of his own. "Cy, you don't always have to keep things to yourself. You know that, right?" Without another word, she rested her chin atop his shoulder, their cheeks just barely touching one another with every slight movement. "Y'know, you let me run my mouth so damn much, so it's only fair that you tell me what's on your mind. 'Sides, you know your ma has been like a mother t'me. It wouldn't hurt me none to hear about what you're worrying about, right? I haven't been able to learn how to read what's goin' on in that busy, lil' mind of yours, Baby Dixon." Grumbling to himself, he leaned his head up against his companion's and only smiled when he heard her breath catch in her throat at the unexpected initiation of contact on his part.

From a window above, his daddy looked on at the scene on the wall, glaring down at the teenagers. "Damn kids are gonna get us killed if they don't start actually watchin' on their watch duty," he grunted before squeezing his eyes shut. His forefinger and thumb rose to the closed lids and pressed in against his eyeballs, willing away the blazing headache that was in its beginning stages. The room he was in was quiet and mostly dark except for the soft, but labored breaths coming from the opposite side of the room and the pale, orange light that was pouring through the crack in the curtains. "Boy's gotta get his head on right. Not gonna let him…" his words trailed off into a few stray grunts. There was no doubt in his mind that he was being unreasonable regarding his son. The weight of everything seemed to be sitting on his shoulders at that moment, though, and the last thing they needed was for a herd to pass by without proper watch being taken.

"You're being too hard on him, Daryl," a voice croaked from behind him. Startled, he turned to see his woman not in her bed, but rather, beside it, pulling the comforter and sheets up above the pillow her head had been laying on. "And before you say anything, I need to get out of that damn bed before I forget how to walk around. I won't go out yet if that'll help you keep your sanity, but you should know that I'm having some serious cabin fever." A small quirk of her lips came across her features, his mouth bobbing up and down like a fish's as he searched for words. She had barely talked in weeks, let alone gotten out of bed. "I understand I must be ravishing right now, but I hear greasy hair was last year's trend. I'm a little behind the times, so I have to apologize for that. It has been quite a few twenty-ninth birthday for me. I think I might be approaching thirty soon. Dear lord, thirty will be such a ghastly age."

The man was still without words as the woman, so thin and frail, slowly made her way over to him, bumping her shoulder into his own when she finally reached him. Her shining, blue eyes stared up at him with a look he had seen before, but not from her. Lines from age and stress graced her pixie's face, and crow's feet seemed to creep from the corners of her eyes. There was a certain wisdom in her features that had only come within the few years prior; age suited her. He had seen the same sort of look in the old farmer's all-knowing eyes. At the same time, she still managed to keep a sense of spunk about her that had been shut away for so many years before he knew her. One of her eyebrows, which were slightly darker than the wispy, short, white hairs that flicked out in all directions from her head, raised as he examined her aged face. The realization that he had not said a word to her since she miraculously rose from what he assumed to her death bed suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. Searching his mind in desperation for the right thing to say, he chose the first word that came to his mouth: "Hey." He mentally smacked himself for lacking any sort of way with words.

Down at the wall, the young Dixon had leaned back onto the balls of his hands that were stretched out behind him and propping him up, the sheriff's daughter curling into the side of his lean body. "Your mama's a strong lady," Asskicker assured him. "I saw her kick your dumb uncle's ass, so there's no way in hell we'll see her not kick this stupid cold's ass… not that it has an ass. You already knew that, though, and now, I sound like the stupid one. Oh boy, y'know Carl told me it was best if I just kept my mouth shut sometimes. I'm sure you know that I talk a little too much sometimes, but Carl was tellin' me that I just say things that no one wants to hear. I told him he said things that were a little too rude sometimes." Her words trailed on, transforming into incoherent babble while he watched her animatedly explain the exasperation she felt towards what her brother had said to her.

Something about her reminded her of his mama, though he could never quite pinpoint what that was. His mama never was the most animated person. The woman rarely complained about anything. She also talked a lot less than the girl cuddled into his side. Then again, no one talked nearly as much as Lil' Asskicker did. Once he could get a word in edgewise, he spoke ever so gently at her. "Y'know, my mama scares the hell outta me some days." For the first time he could recall, he had the young Grimes girl's full attention. "When I think about it, she's been through so much, y'know? With that dumbass who used to beat her and S'phia and then losing the only thing that she still cared about, she's just… I dunno. She told me once that after they got Glenn and Maggie back from the Governor that my dad went off with Merle for a few days. Said she was so angry and sad that she thought it would've surely killed her, but then once he was back, she couldn't even tell him how angry she was. Shit like that makes me wonder what else she's thinkin'. That scares me. One day, she's bound to explode, and when that day comes, I wanna be as far away as I can be."

'Lil Asskicker attempted to stifle a giggle, failing miserably as the squeak of her laugh escaped her throat. When his narrowed eyes glared down, her hands wrapped around her mouth, but her eyes still sparkled with amusement. "Sorry," she chuckled through her fingers. "Just the thought of you bein' scared of your mama out of anyone here is a little bit hilarious. I didn't mean to laugh at you, Cy." Their eyes connected in that moment, hazel on blue. In that exact connection he realized what it was in her that reminded him of his mama. Those eyes. The twinkle she gave him every time he caught her eyes reminded him of the way his mama's eyes looked at times. It did not seem to matter if she was angry or annoyed or completely and undeniably happy; when she looked at him with those eyes, they glimmered in the same way his mama's did when she looked at his daddy. "Think you could maybe tell me more stories about your ma? I like 'em." Still gazing into those eyes, he could only agree to do so.

"Better watch out, Dixon," his mama teased as she peered out the window at her son. "Looks like we might be a pair of twenty-nine year-old grandparents if Casanova over there keeps this up." Instead of scoffing or shoving her playfully, the older Dixon man slid his arm around his woman's shoulders and pulled her into his chest. Talk of babies could wait, but the time he spent with this woman was limited. "I guess _Cosmo _was wrong with that greasy hair being a turnoff this season," her muffled chuckles came from his shirt while her weak arms wrapped around his middle. The low rumble of his laugh came from deep within his chest as he leaned over to press a kiss into her hair, but not before he snuck a quick glance at his son, unable to help his curiosity.

A sense of pride washed over him when the young girl in his boy's arms laughed up at him with a look of adoration on her pretty, little face. "Never enough time anymore," he whispered, clinging to the woman in his arms for dear life. "Never enough."


	7. Not a chapter— a hello and announcement

**Hello, all you lovely and beautiful people who may or may not still have interest in this story!**

**I'm here to inform you that I'm writing this again! It's an exciting time, and I'm sorry for taking so long to write this again. Sometimes real life and other story ideas get in the way of writing. My brain is more like a pinball machine than a train on a one-way track, so more often than not, I get all sorts of ideas that really detract from what I want to be working on at that moment. **

**Enough of my rambling, though! I hope I still have people interested in what is in store for Carol, Daryl, Baby Dixon, and company because I have plans for them. Plenty of plans. :D**

**Thank you for reading thus far and still showing interest if you continue to want to read. **

**-Gabby**


	8. Chapter 7

**Hi there, y'all!**

**Here it is for all of you who have any interest! I'm sorry for being a bit rusty. **

**-Gabby**

_7. Doll_

The bitter cold never bothered him as much as the sweltering heat did, though most seemed to disagree with him. As he grew, his daddy had given over to him an old, worn jacket that was usually topped with the leather vest that had the angel wings on it. Despite the boy's begging to receive his father's faded, yet still colorful poncho, he still felt somewhat satisfied with what he had managed to collect. Though the poncho would have provided more warmth during the late night watch he had taken in place of his father, he kept any grumblings to himself. He especially felt no need to complain while he was taking watch with the farmer's younger daughter, who recently announced that she was pregnant again but refused to give her watch duty to anyone else.

Over the years he had known her, she had gradually lost the softness she once held. She gave him a tight nod when she caught him glancing at her. "Best watch out there. It isn't as cold out tonight and Glenn said there was a buncha' walkers in the next town over last time he went on a run," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The woman buried her face into the collar of her olive green jacket, which he believed belonged to the sheriff's son, until only her wide, blue eyes peeked out from the top of it, blonde waves spilling over her shoulders. The death of her father hardened her. She did not laugh as much. She lacked the sparkle her eyes once had. She simply was not the same.

She and the sheriff's boy had a little girl of their own, whose name was Lorelei Annette Grimes, after their mothers. The child looked just like the woman with her innocent blue eyes and light blonde locks, but even at three years-old she had the mouth of her father and aunt. "You got it, Beth," the boy replied, taking a moment to pull the collar of his jacket up around his neck. When she was around little Lorelei, the hardened woman seemed to take on a softer demeanor. In a way, she reminded him of his own mama. His mama was a tough woman; no one would argue with him on that. Hell, she shot his uncle without a second thought and then managed to argue with his daddy about making the drunken man live outside the walls for the rest of the time he was alive. No one could have done that to his uncle unless they ate nails for breakfast without milk. At least, that is what he had been told.

Sometimes, he wondered how the young Grimes boy got through to her because he was left to assume she was not always so stony. His mama usually had her break downs in the middle of the night after tossing and crying out in her sleep. Not that the farmer's daughter had suffered the same loss as his mama, the pain of losing both parents must have brought about some sort of pain that had to surface at points. The thought of the sheriff's son not being quite sure what to do with his woman weeping beside him brought about a chuckle in the boy until he realized that he was he one who was unsure of what to do with a girl when she was upset. "Don't get too lost in thought there, skippy," the woman whispered to him as her gun made a sharp pinging sound. Three stray walkers had wandered close enough to the wall to be considered a threat. Not batting an eye, he took out the one closest to him while his comrade sent the third's blackened brains flying out into the open road. "Not too much to handle, but we need you on your toes, little Dixon. Wouldn't want you to put your dad's good aim to waste."

He wanted to grimace, but she gave him a rare, small smile before burying her reddened face back into her jacket. Instead, he scoffed, burrowing into his own coat. In many ways, he was constantly compared to his father, but his hunting abilities were the most commented upon. "Baby Dixon," a voice called up to him. None other than young Grimes, a lankier, paler version of the sheriff himself, stared up to him. "I've gotcha covered tonight. Why dontcha' go warm up and then see if Jude's still up? She's been having some trouble with Dad tonight and that probably means she won't be sleeping much." With a grim nod, he agreed to dismount the wall. "Think she went over to your place. Can't be sure, though." More and more, the sheriff seemed to grow increasingly discontent with his daughter for unknown reasons. The young Dixon had a theory that his deceased wife's face being resurrected in their daughter had plenty to do with whatever was causing him such grief. Walking away from the new pair on the wall, the young man glanced back to find the two giving each other a small nod of acknowledgment and an exchange of warm smiles before they focused beyond their safe zone.

The building his family had claimed was definitely the smallest—at least he concluded that was based upon his time spent in the other buildings. Its brick face had turned to a brown-red over the years from when he was left to guess had been a bright red. Above the front door, '21 High Street' read in large, faded-gold print. To him, it seemed like such a strange notion to give names to streets. It seemed to make more sense, in his mind, to explain where something was with a more permanent landmark or anything of the like.

As quietly as possible, he pushed the door open, assuming Asskicker would be sitting somewhere close to the door while his parents slept upstairs. "Ya' ain't fine, woman," a voice hissed from the back of the place called home. "Ya' best tell me what's botherin' ya' or else." A light seeped from underneath the door to the kitchen, giving him some ability to see in the room before him. On the sofa against the wall directly across from him, a group of long limbs hung scattered about. "What is goin' on in that damn head?" The form on the couch stirred slightly, but did not move from its laying position.

"You really wanna know, Daryl? Do you?" His mama's voice rang though the quiet with more bite than he had ever heard come from her. "Well, you should know that my daughter's been dead for twenty-some years, and I may or may not get upset over that from time to time." There was a pause where he could only picture his father, resting his elbows on the countertop with his face buried in his hands, as his mother leaned up against the same counter, arms crossed over her chest and eyes pointed to the ceiling. "I'm sorry. Some days are just worse than others." Another crippling silence came, his mama's hand rising to her face, so her thumb and forefinger could press into her eyelids in an attempt to force back her tears. "Every time I look at him, I see a little bit of Sophia, and it kills me. Each time I think it's getting better, he'll say or do something that just reminds me of her. I try to push it back. Really, I do, but some days, it's too much to handle."

His father released a heavy sigh while the floor let out a muffled creak, indicating the man had leaned back on his heels and was now resting the palms of his hands on the counter. In the moonlight, the young man envisioned, the steely blue eyes of his father were now trained on the reddening face of his mother. "Carol, what happened today?" the older Dixon's voice came out barely above a whisper, as it normally did once his frustration dissipated. "Don't tell me it's nothin' neither. 'Cause you and me both know that's a crock a' shit."

Guilt sat in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight. He knew about his sister: very little but he still knew a bit about her. More often than from his mama, his daddy told him about Sophia. There was not very much he knew about her, as that was the time before he and the boy's mama were together, but he shared all the information he could. She had blonde, wavy hair, much like his own, and their mama's eyes. According to his daddy, she was a little waif of a thing, only twelve-years-old. She had a gentle and quiet nature about her, like his mama, and was, more often than not, afraid of even her own shadow.

"I don't know, Daryl. He was—" his mama's voice cut through the silence his thoughts had been brewing in, "—holding that damn doll Lorelei carries around all day, and he didn't look like her exactly." Another strangling bit of quiet came between the duo, leaving their unknown third party on the edge of his seat. "H-he looked like you... the day you came back in real bad shape with Sophia's doll. I just felt like she should be here with us: with a real family."

"I'm sorry I didn't—"

"You did more than anyone." Outside the door, now sitting on the couch next to the form he had identified as Asskicker, the young man knew his parents were still standing apart from one another: his mother's hand now resting on her cheek as she watched his father bury his face into his palms once more. "And that's all I could have asked for from you. She wasn't your responsibility."

Rare was the occasion where he heard his father's voice grow weak and small. "She coulda' been," he choked out. "She woulda' been."

His daddy was a strong man: the tough hunter with a temper. When it came to the sister he never got to know, his daddy crumbled. "I know," his mama whispered before allowing silence to slip over them once again.


End file.
